


Ghosts of Squirrelfriends Past

by sarahcakes613



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Animals, First Meetings, Ghosts, M/M, Sonny's moustache, why isn't that a canon tag tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27035509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: Rafael is sure his office is haunted. When it becomes apparent that the ghost is in point of fact a very much alive animal, who ya gonna call? Animal control officer Sonny Carisi!
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47
Collections: Barisi Creatures Bingo





	Ghosts of Squirrelfriends Past

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone but most especially Nads who lets me vent about ideas I can't use and tells me when I'm overthinking things (literally always) and supports me when I say "I finally have an idea and it's a bit absurd and also please help me name it."

“Do you hear that?”

Fin stops partway through his giving Barba a rundown on the current case as it relates to their desire for a search warrant and looks at the ADA.

“What am I supposed to be hearing?”

Barba walks up and down the length of the wall behind his desk, his head tilted as if he is trying to fix the location of whatever it is he's heard.

“Whispering,” Barba says. “Like someone is right behind me whispering in my ear.”

“There’s no one else here.” Fin points out.

Barba fixes him with a scathing glare. “Wow, you should be a detective.”

Fin curls his lip in response and Barba shakes his head.

“It’s gone now. Alright, leave the file with me and I’ll see if I can’t find someone to sign your warrant.” He looks at his watch. “I can think of one or two judges who burn the midnight oil, but don’t hold your breath. You might as well call it a night.”

Fin nods, setting the file on Barba’s desk. As he turns to leave, he hears a chittering laugh from somewhere behind him. He whirls around to find Barba staring at him.

“You heard _that_ , right?” Barba asks, swivelling his head around as if a previously unseen third person will show themselves.

Fin nods slowly, not moving otherwise. They both stand still, but the room is quiet.

“Well, I’m at least relieved to see it’s not just me.” Barba comments, taking a seat at his desk. “Carmen thinks it’s auditory hallucinations brought on my overcaffeination and she’s stopped letting me have coffee after 3pm.”

“This building’s seen some interesting characters over the years,” Fin shrugs. “Maybe it’s a ghost. New York’s probably got its fair share of ‘em. If you believe in that sort of thing.” He smirks and flips the collar of his coat up as he turns to leave. “Have a good night, Barba.”

If he believes in that sort of thing, Barba harrumphs to himself. There’s no such thing as ghosts, and it’s probably nothing more than voices filtering in from other offices. Maybe there’s a broken vent somewhere that would otherwise dampen the volume.

He settles down to work on an opening statement and forget about ghosts for a while. When he eventually looks up from his computer, the sun has sunk nearly fully below the horizon. He doesn’t bother getting up to turn on the overhead light, just reaches over and clicks on the banker’s lamp in the corner of his desk.

As the light flares on he hears an odd scratchy tapping, like fingers drumming on a table. He looks around cautiously and catches something out of the corner of his eye, something white and wispy hovering in front of his couch. He scans up and green eyes meet red before he jerks away from his desk and runs out of the office, slamming the door behind him so hard he hears the blinds rattling.

He races down the corridor and down the wide marble staircase to the security desk. The guard on duty looks up at him, taking in his shaky hands and gasping breaths. His hand hovers by his belt as he looks behind Barba to see if he’s being chased.

“Mr. Barba, everything okay?”

Barba laughs in response, a thready, high-pitched hysterical sound that bubbles out of his throat.

“No, Dave, everything is not okay!” He points up at the ceiling to indicate his office on the third floor. “There is a _ghost in my office_!”

Dave looks closely at him.

“Mr. Barba, have you been drinking?”

Barba fixes the young man with a withering glare. “I know what I saw, and it was not the result of the one glass of scotch I have been nursing all evening.” He curls his hand over the top of the security desk. “Now would you please do something about it?”

Dave stands, settling his hand on his belt, right near his radio. “Okay, um. How about you show me where you saw the…”

“Ghost.” Barba reminds him.

“Ghost, right. Show me where you saw the ghost and um, we’ll go from there.”

As Barba leads the security guard back to his office, Dave is trying to decide if he is better off calling a priest or an exterminator. Would ghosts count as pests? That’s not something he’s ever had to consider before.

When they get to Barba’s office, he stands back and lets the security guard take the lead. Dave slowly twists the doorknob, gripping his flashlight in an overhand position. He enters cautiously and Barba sees through the blinds as the flashlight bobs around the room.

Suddenly there is an inhuman shriek followed by a clanging sound, almost like chains rattling. Barba puts a hand to his chest as if to somehow tame his fast-beating heart. There is another shriek and clang, and Barba looks around frantically for something he can use as a weapon.

Something latches onto his shoulder and he whirls, Carmen’s heavy stapler clutched in his fist. Dave takes his hand off Barba, putting both hands up.

“Whoa, whoa, Mr. Barba! It’s me! It’s fine, everything’s under control. I thought you might want to come in and see your ghost.”

Barba sheepishly lowers the stapler and follows Dave back into his office. Dave points to the corner behind his desk and Barba’s eyes follow. There on the floor is his metal wastebasket, only it is upside down. And moving, occasionally bumping into the wall radiator, making the clanging noise he’d been hearing.

They both approach the corner and now Barba can see through the mesh of the metal that there is something alive, something small and furry and white. It faces them and Barba trips over his own feet at the beady red eyes staring back at him. It hisses, baring its tiny sharp teeth at him.

“It’s a squirrel!” Dave exclaims, and Barba can see that now, can see the fluffy tail he’d thought was wisps of ghostly plasma.

“It must be an albino,” Dave continues. “I bet that’s pretty rare.”

“Quite,” Barba says, eyes still focused on the squirrel. It’s sizing him up like it’s thinking about making a run for it. “I suppose you call pest control now?”

Dave reaches for his radio. “Animal control, actually. The Parks department usually handles wildlife.”

Barba looks at his watch. It’s getting to be past suppertime and he doesn’t know what animal control’s hours are like but he’s anxious to have this dealt with before he leaves and returns in the morning. He shudders to think what devastation an angry squirrel could wreak on his bookshelves if left unattended.

The radio crackles as Dave relays his message to another guard, who calls animal control for them.

“Sit tight,” Dave says. “They’ll send someone pretty quick. I’d better get back to my post.”

Barba looks incredulously at the guard. “You can’t leave!” He hisses. “What if it gets out?”

The wastebasket has stopped moving, but the tiny beast is chittering loudly and Barba’s sure it is just waiting until he’s gotten complacent.

“Here,” Dave hands him his flashlight. “Albino's eyes are super sensitive to light.”

Barba clutches the flashlight gratefully and perches himself on the edge of his couch, keeping the wastebasket in his line of sight. Dave leaves, and Barba tries to distract himself, but he’s afraid to even look at his phone and risk missing the moment the squirrel makes its bid for freedom.

He clicks the flashlight off and on aimlessly, drawing patterns on the wall with the beam of light. He is careful to avoid the probably rabid creature. It’s gone quiet and has stopped trying to move the basket but even in the shadows he can see its whiskers quivering, and he’s not interested in angering it further.

A light knock on the doorframe startles him and he drops the heavy flashlight on his foot. He swears as he picks it up and looks over to see a pair of workboots standing next to the couch. He follows the boots up, up, up a lanky pair of legs encased in snug green trousers, up a slim torso in an embroidered workshirt, up to a smiling face with one of the most 1980’s moustaches Barba has seen this side of the new millennium.

“Hey, sorry for scaring ya!” The moustache has a thick Staten Island accent and Barba stares, transfixed. The embroidered name patch says Sonny, which somehow matches both the moustache and the accent.

Neither of them speaks for a moment and the latecomer shifts awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

“Mr. Barba, right? You reported a squirrel loose on the premises?” His mouth curls around the R in Barba’s name, practically skimming over it.

“Yes, right, a squirrel.” Barba repeats, and waves the flashlight over the corner of his office where the wastebasket is now rattling again.

“Aw hey, an albino! Y’know, they aren’t as rare as people think, but we don’t get ‘em much in the city. This little guy must have gotten caught in the vents at some point and was prob’ly trying to find an egress point.”

As he speaks, Sonny sets down a small cat carrier and starts pulling things out of his pack. Barba watches closely as he scoops a handful of what looks like dry cat food into a bowl that he sets inside the carrier. He’s kneeling on the floor about halfway between the door and the squirrel, and Barba tries not to stare at the way his shirt pulls up his back. It’s tucked in and belted, but the tug of fabric draws everything tight, including his pants, which shape his ass perfectly. God bless Staten Island if it breeds men like this, Barba thinks.

“Can you close the door?” Sonny whispers. “I’m betting he’s hungry and hopefully he’ll run straight for the food, but I don’t want him getting any great escape ideas.”

Barba stands and shuts the door, then moves closer to watch as Sonny sets the carrier down across from the wastebasket. Sonny looks over his shoulder and grins at him, his moustache bristling along his upper lip. Barba hates it and also kind of wants to run his finger over it. He likes what he can see hidden beneath it, full pink lips that seem most natural curved into a small smile.

“Aright listen, I know you’re feelin’ a bit scared but I’m here to help you, okay? So, I’m gonna lift this basket off you and you’re going to go straight for that delicious kibble, you got that?”

His voice is low and soothing, and Barba finds himself charmed that the man is trying to appeal to a wild animal that Barba’s still not sure won’t try to claw his face off given the opportunity.

Sonny moves behind the squirrel, leaving a clear path straight into the carrier. He pulls on a thick pair of gloves and slowly gets a grip on the sides of the basket. In one clean movement, he jerks it up and Barba holds his breath as the squirrel bolts.

Straight towards him, with murderous intent in its beady red eyes.

Sonny moves fast but so does the squirrel. Barba jumps back as it runs at him and finds himself off the ground, clinging with his arms around the other man, his knees lifted so his feet dangle too high up for the squirrel to latch on to.

“Oof,” Sonny grunts as he catches Barba, but he doesn’t falter, just tightens his arm around Barba’s lower back as he swings them around to set Barba down on top of his desk.

Barba doesn’t let go, still clinging to Sonny like a koala in search of the highest branch.

“Mr. Barba,” Sonny coughs. “I’m not objecting to the cuddle itself, but I really gotta catch that squirrel before I can clock off for the night.”

He lets go then, smoothing out Sonny’s shirt where his fingers have rumpled it. “Carry on, then.” He allows. He sits on the edge of his desk with his feet on a chair, still wary of having them on the floor. He chooses to conveniently ignore the way squirrels can climb things.

Sonny circles back around to the carrier and shines his beaming smile at Barba once more. “Looks like he was just feinting,” he says, quickly sliding the door of the carrier into place and sliding the lock mechanism into place. “Little guy’s goin’ to town on the feed.”

“My hero,” Barba says it lightly. Sonny blushes, his hand coming up to rub at his neck again.

“Just doin’ my job, y’know?” He shrugs. “I’d better get him out of here. I hope he didn’t interrupt your evening plans too much.” He coughs as he picks up the cat carrier. “You uh, got a Mrs. Barba waitin’ at home for you?”

Rafael shakes his head and holds up his left hand, showing his bare ring finger. “No missus, no mister either." It's a guess to reveal that, but a good one based on the way Sonny's eyes brighten. "The only plans I had were another glass of scotch and some Chinese food.”

Sonny hums and shifts on the balls of his feet. “I haven’t eaten dinner yet either,” he says. “If you were willin’ to wait another half hour, maybe we could get that Chinese together?”

It’s late, but not so late that another half hour will take them out of reasonable evening mealtime. Barba feigns disinterest for a short moment, straightening some papers on his desk as he pretends to think.

“I think that could work, yes.” He looks up and can’t help but quirk a small smile in response to the wide one on Sonny’s face.

The restaurant Barba had been planning to go to is a short walk from One Hogan and Sonny promises to meet him back at his office as soon as he’s delivered the squirrel to the veterinary service that animal control uses, where he’ll be checked for rabies before being released into Central Park.

Sonny brings the cat carrier up to eye-level. “You want to say goodbye?” He jokes to Barba, who gamely waves at the creature that had nearly given him a heart attack. The squirrel ignores him, but Barba doesn't know what squirrel memory is like and just to be safe, he thinks he'll avoid any late night walks through the park for a while.

When Sonny leaves, Barba sinks into his chair and downs the last few drops in his long-abandoned glass of scotch. He can’t remember the last time he went on a date, and now he’s got one with a man straight out of a handyman daydream. He still can’t decide if he’s more horrified by the moustache or the accent but he also kind of wants to lick them both.

Soon enough there’s another light knock on his doorframe and he looks up to see Sonny standing there. He’s still wearing his workboots and those snug uniform pants, but he’s changed into a dress shirt that definitely began life on a larger man, and he’s paired it with a tie that offends every one of Barba’s sensibilities. He’ll definitely be careless when he rips it off Sonny later.

“You changed,” Barba says, stating the obvious.

Sonny blushes again, and Barba likes how far down his neck the flush goes, the way it dips down below his collar.

“Yeah well, I figured this was probably like a date, right, so I could at least clean up a little. I try to always keep a clean shirt in my car just in case.” He plucks at the oversized shirt. He’s also done something to his hair; where it was previously hanging shaggy and loose it is now slicked back, curling behind his ears.

It’s all a bit eager, Sonny clearly looking to make a good impression for their date, but Barba finds himself charmed by it.

As Barba locks his office door, Sonny runs his fingers over the name plate affixed to it. “Rafael,” he says, elongating the syllables.

“That’s me,” Barba agrees.

“I like it,” Sonny says. “It suits you.”

“I had very little to do with choosing it but thank you. Is there a story behind Sonny, or is that really what your birth certificate says?”

Sonny grins. “Nah, on paper I’m Dominick, Dominick Carisi, Jr., but I’ve been Sonny since I was a kid. My ma used to joke that my dad wanted to name me after him so he wouldn’t forget my name but then I was the only boy out of four kids so now she jokes that he calls me Sonny so he doesn’t forget he has one.” He shrugs. “Parent humour, I guess.”

Rafael considers Sonny. “I’m not one who inclines towards childhood nicknames,” he says, “but I think Sonny suits you more than Dominick does.”

Sonny ducks his head, but Rafael sees the smile peeking out.

It’s cool but clear as they walk into Chinatown and to Rafael’s favourite late night dim sum place. As they sit down, Rafael asks a question that’s been burning in him all evening.

“Is a ghost-slash-squirrel the weirdest call you’ve ever had? Am I destined to become fodder for animal control’s silliest reports?”

Sonny laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, you aren’t even in the top 5 weirdest calls I’ve had this _month_. Actually, it wasn't even the first ghost call, we had another one that turned out to be a mourning dove nesting in a lady’s chimney. Then of course there’s the usual October prank calls, lotta people reporting vampire bats and such.”

He takes a long sip from his beer and Rafael admires the line of his neck as he swallows. Rafael still doesn’t believe in ghosts, but as he sits in this restaurant across from Sonny, he thinks he could believe in fairy tales.

If he’s very lucky, the night will end in a happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Rejected fic titles for this included "do he got the boo-ty" and "rebel squirrel".


End file.
